What The Goblin King Does Not Do
by Shadow-D'hampyr
Summary: In a certain room, hidden from view of any but one man, was a room. A musty, comfortable room. A room filled with literature, novels, histories, and accounts. Contained in this room is a book of singular importance, the book that's never finished.
1. A Brief History

Hey,

Muahahaha! Yes, everyone, now that I've had time to adjust, somewhat, to my new food regiment and the hideous drugs I'm on are slowly not hurting as much (intestinal problems… yuck!) I have become overly energized and inspired. And as soon as I get inspired to write, a certain someone enters my brain and demands an audience… or more like he demands authority… but whatever.

Oh, and I just wanted to send a shout out to CoffeeKris, for not only being there by me through all of my Lab fan fic, but also stealing (Joking, just joking) my concept and creating a beautiful short off of it. I loved it, did I ever tell you?

Well, without further ado… wait, I forgot the **Disclaimer:** I don't OWN the characters, property, or original storyline of The Labyrinth.  
Whew, NOW without further ado…

What The Goblin King Does Not Do 

_He sat and stared into the empty space. It was a relatively quiet day, which surprised him. No little goblins running around, no hens clucking, no hen-pecking women. It was just… silent. However, there was a reason for that. For you see, there were no goblins to be reaking havoc yet, there were no hens to cluck, there was nothing, really. He stared at not the endlessness of the land stretching out before him, but at the possibilities. Long, long, long ago, that had been him. A creature prone to imagining, to wondering, to possibilities and futures. _

_He had sat for a long time, merely planning. His knack for plans was rooted in him from birth, most likely. Not that anyone knew him then. Yes, he was planning, not scheming mind you, for he had not yet learned that trick. No, he sat, and sat, and sat. If there had of been any observers, they might have mistaken him for a boulder or a statue. The leaves fell, the rain froze, the snow covered, the spring thawed, the flowers bloomed. And still he sat. _

_Finally, something clicked. Something strange and unknowable had been resolved, and he got up. Even though he had not moved in almost a year, he stood with the fluid, feline grace that would later intoxicate and thrill generations. But at that time, none were there to appreciate his elegance. _

_His eyes gave the land a final sweep and then they closed. Never before had the land been cultivated, never before had its magics been tamed, never before had it encountered someone of the likes of him. His magic was something new, something untried, something that even he had not yet fully explored. He somehow knew that once he tamed this land, he was stay here. He would imbue the land with something of himself, not enough to be used against him, but enough that it would understand him, obey him, companion him. _

_Suddenly there's a blinding flash of light, and in those days of unrefined magic, a spectator would have seen it, in all of its breathtaking glory. The webs of magic dancing through the air, spreading across the land, climbing into the sky, and then diving. Diving deep into the ground, tangling with the very magic that sustained this wild land. This land was magical, while not sentient, was different than the lands he had found before. Unlike the other places, this land had not been sun-bleached of its magic, nor had it been sapped by the trees and life around it. This land was as untamable as his own nature, and that might have been why it submitted; though one may never truly know why. The battle between the young man and the land was long and hard, and stretched over more time than he had sat. His magic slowly infused and intertwined with the magic of the land. Slowly, his own power increased from the continuous strain, and he learned his limitations, his gifts, his curses. Slowly, ever so slowly, it bent its head, as it never had before, not in shame or defeat, but in blessing. _

_The man finally opened his eyes and glanced out at the land, physically unchanged, but magically tied to his very being. There was so much work to do. He know heard and understood the quiet, still voice of the land. He knew what he had to do. Both he and the land were never going to leave here, and so, he planned how they might live together without becoming stagnant. Both wandering magics yearned for freedom, and yet, yearned more for some semblance of order, or… a home. It surprised him, at first, that his heart should yearn for a place to call his own. But over time he realized that subduing the land and the magics meant that he would need to rule it, and that made all the difference._

_The planning, he had done, meticulously, for if he made even one mistake in his cultivation of this land, would render him impoverished of his magic, perhaps even forfeit his life. No, he had ever minutia planned for, every possibility expected, every catastrophe prevented. Then he called forth the magics, and slowly his dream took form, shimmering at first, but slowly solidifying out of the realm of dreams. As he created, it fought to regress, as he built, it fought to crumble, as he structured, it fought to break free. So he took compassion on the magics, on his very soul, and gave it a life of its own. That it might always be his but forever surprise him; always be there, but never retain the same dimensions or specifications. It was as much a living-breathing thing as he, but its flesh was wrought from the earth it exited, its blood, the magics that flowed through it, its mind, a portion of his soul. _

_Before the young man lay, the Labyrinth. _

An excerpt from '_The Tome of Knowledge_'

He smiled sardonically. How mesmerizing they had made it all sound, how grandiose and utterly boring! Putting the tome down he rolled his head back and gazed out the stone window high above. From the thin slit overhead, he could just make out a passing cloud, a slight breeze, a distant cry of a falcon or a hawk. Something nostalgic had awoken in him, for while he might scoff at how they tried to garnish the past, it was true in its facts. He breathed a silent sigh. Something inside him ached, ached for those day, when the world had been simple and magic free. Now, everything came at a cost, and everyday was a drudgery. He was an 'expert' now, no longer a 'novice'. He had explored the paths, memorized the details, missed the forest for the trees.

His fluid, feline grace had not left him in the eons that had passed since he had first been gifted with life. If anything, it had been honed, trained, perfected. His motions seemed something taken from a dream, something unhampered by gravity and possibilities. He prowled through the room, filled with the dusty smell of books and the light flooding in from the surfeit of windows. The air was still, and dust made small motes in the air as he passed. The books lined the walls, extending up a story or two, covering end tables, adorning the many, multi-tiered shelves organized throughout the back portion of the room. Their titles and subjects ranged from the obscure to the incredulous, the practical to the fanciful. And he had collected each one.

A slight pull, a tug at his conscious, alerted him to the meandering thoughts of his constant familiar. Yes, the Labyrinth was always with him, and today it had an idea for him. It understood his mood, and knew what would lighten his load, ease his retrospect, quiet his ancient soul.

A single book moved from its place. It was unremarkable as far as old books go. It cover flapped open so as to allow the book to glide towards its owner. It was perhaps the oldest of his books, the most loyal, and the one of the few that was not finished… and most likely would never be. The familiar volume landed on his outstretched hand, its weight the same as the day when he had used his magic to bring it into existence. The cover was nothing to draw attention. Its pages were not gilded, its writing not ornate. No, this book was beautiful in its simple elegance, in its honesty, and sometimes, in its humor. And if was for that exact reason that he would read it again, as he had over the years. So many times, so very many times.

The magic-written title was in simple black ink, What Goblin Kings Don't Do. Just the title brought a slight semblance of a smile to his face. Slowly, he opened the book.

_This is an account of the behavior, thoughts, and specifications of the Goblin King, Jareth. May none doubt these words, nor any read them without permission. _

Jareth had nothing to fear from this thinly veiled threat; after all, he had been the one to install it. The protection spells on this book were most stringent.

_What The Goblin King Does Not Do (An Exhaustive List… As Of Yet, Unfinished.)_

_Does not allow himself to be governed by ANY ONE or ANY THING._

_Does not retreat, he advances in a reverse direction._

_Does not get beaten, he allows others to win._

_Does not admit to defeat, he schemes on retribution._

_Does not bend on knee, EVER!_

_Does not beg._

_Does not request._

_Does not roll his eyes._

_Does not laugh, he purrs._

_Does not speak in monotone. _

_Does not swagger._

_Does not walk, he floats or prowls._

_Does not plan, he schemes. Although, long ago he planned, once._

_Does not become melancholy, he reminisces. _

_Does not display his emotions, he cultivates calculated expressions on his face._

Jareth put down the book. A very slight smile played at his lips. The Labyrinth had been right. For some reason, this ancient tome was healing to him. Not because he was so overly narcissistic, but because it was honest as no other books were. Plus, it had a very dry wit carefully woven into its being. He turned and strode nonchalantly to the books designated shelf space. Carefully, almost reverently he placed it back in its place. There would be another time to read on. Many more times.

His face set into a determined, chiseled image of himself. Yes, today was the day he had been waiting for. His strange mood brought on by the knowledge of what was to come. Soon, sooner than any would suspect, he would need the book again. Soon, he would waylay his very soul, and find it again in this truthful tome. Soon…

With that he departed the room, leaving it as if he had never been.

.:OoO:.

Well, what do ya think? **Evil Smile**. I'll leave you all to speculate what you will about what I'm going to do with this. Enjoy.

Shadow-D


	2. Why Castles Have Mismatched Windows

Hey,

What's this? Yes, I think it is… another installment of our wonderful self-indulgent King. Hey everyone. I'm gonna be putting up these chapters while I'm workin' on The Sequel. I'll generally have a small update about how the sequel is doing. I'm planning on not putting anything up until I have a small safety net of chapters under me, that way if I fell of the face of the earth, or was abducted by goblins for a short stint, I would still have stuff to put up. Yeah, chapter 1's done. MUAHAHAHAHA!

Now, there might be hints in here that will later parallel events in aforementioned sequel. However, they probably won't make sense until later. But at least these chapters give you an idea of what Jareth does in his free time, and it fills you in on the history of the Labyrinth and its King, well, at least the history that my crazy mind likes coming up with. And that's worth reading, right?

What the Goblin King Does Not Do

_In the dark, the boy would watch the clouds pass over a waxing moon. The boy would sit and watch as the Labyrinth steadily changed itself over the seasons. Originally, there were no inhabitants, no buildings, no castle. Long, long ago, the boy had no wish for any such things. The boy had the Labyrinth, and for a long time, that was enough. _

_However, over time, the boy began to realize that his labyrinth really wasn't doing any good. Yes, it gave their magics a place to take physical shapes, but it didn't seem to serve any practical service. Not that the boy wanted everything to be practical, or serviceable. But still, the boy felt the need to create purpose in their lives. So he created his castle, not the grandiose castle of today, precariously placed in the heart of an ever changing labyrinth; but a much simpler affair. It consisted of a central stone building, no larger than a regular double story house, and a tower affixed at the southern side of the building. _

_The labyrinth was a little wary of having to move such a building around and not break it, but the boy put protection around it, and that was that. Every morning, the boy would awake in a new location. The labyrinth took great pride in serving this purpose for the boy. It would work tirelessly, trying to find newer and more wonderful locations to have the castle appear at. And the boy appreciated it. _

_The problem with utopia, is that some people get bored with endless bliss…both the boy and the labyrinth did. _

_So, they devised a new way to entertain themselves. They would allow passer-byes to enter the labyrinth, and try to get out. Of course, the only problem with that was that the passer-byes, once thrown into the labyrinth, had no idea where to go to try to find the castle and its ruler to plead their case before. Yes, because the boy's castle moved, they were amassing a rather embarrassing collection of skeletons. This wouldn't do. The boy enjoyed fun and games, a mischievous prank here and there, but he certainly didn't want to think that he was responsible for leading them to their doom. Really, he didn't want to be responsible for anything, but that tends to be slightly unavoidable in life. _

_ Again, the boy and the labyrinth had to change to facilitate this new development. This time the boy decided that the center was a good location for the castle. However, the labyrinth pleaded with the boy, it loved showing him the infinite sights and sounds of its magic, of its lands, and it didn't want him to get bored with it. The boy came up with a plan, the labyrinth would always make sure to change the areas around the base of the castle, so while it stayed in the center of the labyrinth, it didn't need to have the 'center' of the labyrinth stay the same. One day a great rolling meadow would serve as the foundation for the castle, and on another day it would be a great hillside with stilts. This was pleasing to both parties._

_The only problem was the castle. It was too small to see from the edges of the Labyrinth! This wouldn't do! So, the castle began to become something bigger. And of course, now that people could see it, it needed to be something worth seeing. The labyrinth had many suggestions on this subject, because it had heard of many different grand castles which were placed on the lands surrounding it. The boy liked quite a few ideas, so soon the castle was an interesting conglomeration of styles and eras. And this way, it wouldn't matter if the boy wanted to change a room here or there, it wasn't like it all had to match._

**An excerpt from** '_The Tome Of Knowledge_'

The large book flipped a few pages restlessly and began to preen itself. This was quite a feat to achieve for a book. Because what the book had to do, was fold two pages over and use them to inspect the other pages for dust or crinkles. If the book was fortunate enough to have a cover with flaps, it would commonly use those. _The Tome Of Knowledge_ had no such luck.

When Jareth entered the room he saw something that truly amazed him, not that he would ever admit to it, after all, that was something that Goblin Kings never do. What he saw was a flock of smaller books cleaning the thick tome. Apparently, the tome was much too old and tired to clean itself, so it had recruited friends.

He cocked his head to the side slightly, "What in the Underground ARE you doing?"

The flurry of activity suddenly stopped and several books were so surprised that they fell right out of the air. Then they all began squawking at him, trying their best to give him an explanation.

For those of our readers who have never heard or tried to communicate with a flock of frazzled books, don't. Just don't. They sound similar to Jr. high girls, except that books don't use any one language. Oh no, they're much too smart for that. Instead they switch between languages and dialects with almost every word. This makes for a very confusing jumble, and only the most well-versed, affluent, and patient person could ever hope to survive such an encounter. I would suggest that you ask the book to write it all down, if you do have to have a conversation… much easier that way. They're books, they're better with the written language.

Jareth held up a hand and the room suddenly silenced. "I don't want to know. Just return to your places, all of you." The smaller books took off in a torrent of page turning and flapping. However, the ancient tome stayed where it was. Obviously the old thing didn't want to move. Jareth glared at the book a moment before it remembered its place and took off.

He sighed and gracefully plopped down onto a couch. It was a nice couch, overstuffed, leather, black. What was interesting though, was its smell and the fact that it did magical massages. It had taken quite a few tries before Jareth had perfected the spell to make this couch, and there were quite a few lucky goblin houses that held couches that would either vibrate the unsuspecting occupant off or bombard them with overpowering massage techniques. Sadly, one couch had to be put down after ii ate the goblin that was sitting on it.

Jareth rolled his head around, letting the tension in his body be drained away by the couch. It had been a long, hard day and he wanted to relax a little. Suddenly a cup of warm hot cocoa appeared on the couch's arm rest. He could smell just the tiniest hint of peppermint. "Shnapps?" The couch purred in response. He picked up the mug and sipped. It was wonderful, rich and chocolaty, but laced with the perfect amount of peppermint alcohol goodness. Yes, a little alcohol would be the perfect thing right now.

His day hadn't gone well. They'd gotten into a fight after only two minutes of being in the same room. Then his fiendish plans had been interrupted by that brute that lived with her. LIVED WITH HER! Oh, that he wasn't sure he could forgive. Then she had set 'ground rules'… GROUND RULES?! How dare she set rules on him! Was there an echo in here? Never mind. However… what had she really meant. It was all so intriguingly infuriating. If she had set rules… that meant that he was expected again. Well, if you looked at it in the right light, she wanted him. Well, that was a given. But the stubborn git just wouldn't admit that. No, that would be too easy, and she seemed to love difficulty.

He fumed.

His fuming was interrupted when a smallish book perched on his knee. He looked down warily. The books in his personal library were like crows, and if you showed any signs of weakness, they would descend upon you, all demanding to be read. Good think that the Goblin King never showed any weakness.

The book was, of all things, _What Goblin Kings Don't Do _(more commonly referred to as _What The Goblin King Does Not Do_). It ruffled its covers and puffed up a bit, settling happily onto Jareth's knee. Setting his cocoa aside he held out his hand to the amiable little book. It was more than happy to comply, springing up onto his hand and letting itself open to where they had last let off.

_- Does not show amazement._

_  
- Does not eat truffles. Expensive mushrooms that really are just mushrooms, hunted for by pigs. PIGS! Well, he does eat chocolate truffles, but that's different._

_- Does not clean bathrooms. _

Jareth thought about this statement. Yes, even when it was just him and the labyrinth, he had refused to clean the bathrooms. Hence the bathroom cleaning spell that saved many lives and brought in a tiny fortune every year. If nothing else, Jareth was the amazing entrepreneur.

_- Does not eat wild herring._

Again, it took Jareth a minute before he could place that one. Ah, yes, the one and only fishing trip with the labyrinth. Mentally he shuddered.

_- Does not physically shiver._

_- Does not fraternize with runners. _

He'd added that one after Sarah had run through.

_- Does not pay attention to people and try to get them to be a runner by subtly placing his book 'The Labyrinth' into their possession._

Another cleverly added entry which owed its existence to Sarah.

­­_- Does not regret._

_- Does not collect, he hoards._

_- Does not smoke or do drugs. However, the occasional 'mushroom' is acceptable. _

He had never been big into the whole idea of drugs. That would mean you were handing over your bodily actions and mental capacities to something other than yourself.

_- Does not sing in the shower. He composes._

_- Does not… stuff._

And he would be the first one to tell you that.

_- Does not tutor, even though he has a vast amount of knowledge on most subjects and is a genius in IQ. _

There was a tiny note inscribed into the median of the page, _If only he was as good with dealing with people!_ Jareth scoffed. He was fine with dealing with people; they just weren't good at dealing with him. Inconsiderate idiots.

_- Does not play fair._

_- Does not like cocoa without peppermint shnapps._

Jareth smirked a little. That was enough, now on to scheming. He placed the book back in its place and stalked off. The little ingrate would be sorely afraid if she believed he was going to simply allow her to have power over him.

.:OoO:.

Look, another chapter. I figure I'm just gonna do 15 things each time. That way they stay novel and a wonderful little treat. Hope you guys are enjoying your history lessons. Later.

Shadow-D


	3. And Then There Were Goblins

Hey,

Ug… I'm on MORE nasty drugs. Everyone, NEVER GET INFECTIONS OF ANYTHING IN YOUR INTESTINES! Just don't do it, it's not worth it. That's all I'll say on that.

Ehem. So, more about our Goblin King and his quirks. Just a slight warning, the historical excerpt is a little… violent.

What the Goblin King Does Not Do

_The people who traversed the Labyrinth had always been few and far between, and that was beginning to become a bore. Sure, the people would occasionally stumble across his labyrinth, but rarely did they enter. So, the boy began to devise a way to increase the traffic in his Labyrinth. Really, it just wasn't any fun to be the ruler of something as grand as the Labyrinth without people to cower in fear._

_The boy was beginning to change, to grow, by the time an answer happened upon him one night. The boy had long ago realized that he could walk through the dreams of mortal and Fae alike. He had the power to change and shape others' dreams, and he enjoyed using it. However, one night, while he silently padded from one fantasy to another horror, he heard a strange sobbing. There was something hollow and wanting about these peels of sorrow that grabbed his attention and wouldn't let go. Following them, he happened into a barren dream of dark streams and ghostly, staring faces._

_There was a young mother perched on the edge of a mighty river. Clutched to her chest was a tiny child, terribly undernourished, and too weak to make a noise. The mother was afraid, he could smell it, for the whole dream reeked of her sheer terror. Behind her, noise suddenly sprung to life. There was an angry man. He was yelling at her as he stormed forward. Something was in his hand, and he wheeled it into the young girl's head. The dull –thunk– surprised the boy. He watched as the young mother fell to the ground, still clutching the tiny child to her chest. The man began to pour forth his rage onto the prostrate woman, beating her again and again and again. Finally his voice began to boom through the dream. _

_"HOW DARE YOU! HOW DARE YOU MAKE THAT BASTARD BEHIND MY BACK!"_

_The boy's pupil's narrowed as he watched the man beat the woman. Finally she cried out in a voice that broke and soon fell silent, as still has her form, "PLEASE! SOMEONE… save my boy…" Her eyes never closed, but remained open, fixedly staring in terror at an uncaring sky. The boy had no way to know if this dream was real or not, but he had come to realize something. That babe would be left to die, beside its fallen mother._

_He reached out and felt that indeed, the boy had a consciousness, a beating heart. This mother, had most likely relived her last moments as she drifted into eternal sleep, in a hope to save the child. _

_This enraged the boy. Who would do such a thing to such this woman, this girl. For in truth, she was no older than a child herself, certainly on more than thirteen or fourteen? He exited the world of dreams, and stepped into reality. There on the ground, lay the cold body of the girl, still huddling over her babe. The boy stared sadly, and then collected the little bundle. "Come away with me, where the pain will go away." In the next moment, an owl's feather fluttered to the ground, and when it touched the body of the woman, she was suddenly buried in a beautiful resting place._

_The boy, changed with this experience. He knew the child would not survive long in the world of magic in which he now would live. So he changed the babe into the first of many subjects, an elf child. This poor one, he could tell the babe would grow up to be intelligent, and he decided that it would be too young to remember any of this as it grew._

_Soon the boy realized that there were many mortal children who grew up being unwanted, unloved, uncared for. And the boy decided what to do. He would whisper in the night, whisper into the dreams of those mortals who 'cared' for the children, a tale of a horrid Goblin King who would take away children who were bad and were wished away._

_The boy changed through time, his interactions with the mortals hardening his heart. As time passed, he grew into a man; a man who fit the image of the Horrid Goblin King, The children who he rescued were generally changed into goblins, however a special few became elves or sprite, fairies or dryads, and other such magical beings. Over time, his castle became filled with mischievous goblins and loyal subjects. _

**An excerpt from** 'The Tome Of Knowledge'

Jareth entered the library, for once, with an aloof smile. For once, everything was going how he'd wanted it to go. The Labyrinth was doing an acceptable job in taking care of affairs whenever Jareth had to be away. The country was thriving. And no stupid goblins had destroyed the castle while he'd been gone. All in all, he was rather satisfied with that.

He stopped for a moment, letting the moonlight fall upon his bare chest. While the rest of the castle was stifling in the summer heat, his library was perfectly cool with the slight ocean breezes and moon lit chilled stones. The library was the only room on the southern tower, and so it was the only room to get the full affect of these wonderful breezes. Floating in on the breeze was the light voice of a siren.

Jareth sat down, and let himself become lost in her song for a long while. It was beautiful and slow. Untamed and echoing. The song used no words, but instead spoke straight to ones heart. It was a sorrowful, haunting tale of love lost. The siren sang every night, but tonight it was singularly breathe taking. Had he ever really heard it before? Had he ever really listened?

His mood turned somber for a moment. No, before he had no reason to understand the plight of that poor frail creature of the sea; that ghostly apparition of longing and pain. What had changed? He had been denied his own love for ten years. To a being such as him, ten years was nothing, a mere blink of the eye. But that was irrelevant, and that made it no less painful. However, unlike the pitiful creature of the waves, he had not told the world, nor had he mourned. He had prepared, planned, conspired. And all of it was beginning to bear fruit.

He stayed like that for a long time, listening to the keening of the unearthly soul. His thoughts were interrupted by a slight rapping on his door. Without bothering to raise his head from the couch, which it was draped over, looking out at the night sky; he said, "Enter."

A timid foot fall, and then another. The slow creaking of the door followed by a hesitant breath before the creature spoke, "Sire?"

Jareth still did not move, his keen eyes picking out constellations in the heavens far above. "Yes?"

The voice belonged to a young elfling. A creature that would never quite attain the height nor regal bearing of a true elf, but commonly were more in tune with nature and animals. This young one served the Goblin King, acting as the castle runner. "Sire… the religious delegates from Suburbia are here. They wish to speak to you." His timid voice fell away into the stillness of the room, and for a moment it seemed to have fallen only on deaf ears.

Finally Jareth raised a hand, "Take them to some suitable chambers, and apologize, but tell them that it is too late to hold meetings tonight." He lowered his hand, dismissing the page.

The young elfling bobbed his head and quickly scampered from the room.

Jareth finally stretched and sat up. Delegates? He had no wish to speak to them, not tonight, really… not ever. But that was one of the more annoying parts about running a country, maintaining relationships. He thought for a moment, there certainly was one relationship that he wanted to be maintaining tonight, but he knew it was too soon to visit again. No, let them be.

His hand whirled slowly through the air, leaving a bright trail of magic, shimmering and catching in the beams of frosty moonlight. A small sound of flapping, and then his favorite book was nestled into the crook of his neck, watching his mesmerizing display. He twirled his hand and began to let crystals fall into suspended animation, slowly spinning, casting prisms on the dark walls and shelves of books. The orbs began to frost over, and then, suddenly they burst into tiny explosions of diamond dust and the smell of summer magic.

Jareth pulled the small book away from his neck and ran his thumb over its leather binding. A slight smile pulled at one end of his mouth as he summoned a glowing crystal and hung it above him in the air. He finally drew back the cover and it magically fell open to where he had left off.

_- Does not enjoy dealing with politics._

No, really, he never had. That part of his job had grown over time, as other countries slowly deemed themselves worthy to rear their ugly heads and proclaim themselves sovereign nations.

_**- **__Does not care for summer in the castle, and would much rather be off in a flight of fancy._

_- Does not like humanity, much too evil a race._

_- Does not need people to believe in 'fairies' to keep his powers._

Jareth had always hated this silly, pompous view of humans. They were always too self-important, thinking that if they didn't believe in magical creatures enough, that those beings would die.

_- Does not like fairies._

Which IDIOT had come up with horrible myth that fairies were nice? He'd certainly never met a 'Tinkerbelle' in the bunch.

_- Does not feel the cold, he creates it._

_- Does not ice skate, that's beneath him… literally._

_- Does not enjoy human plays, however, the Bard did know what he was writing about._

_- Does not know, or has ever known, Puck._

For some reason, people always thought that darn sprite was real. No… not unless there was some horrible, spiteful pixie hiding in a world far from view.

_- Does not wear trousers. _

For a moment Jareth stared at this one. It seemed horribly out of place. One minute it's talking about the Bard and Puck, the next… pants? Oh well, this book may not have been wonderfully organized, but it was terribly enjoyable, and he fought down a small smile.

_- Does not wear ties or shirts buttoned above his chest._

Oh, so there was a trend. Never mind.

_- Does not mind wearing leather year round, it's the magic that makes it so terribly comfortable._

_- Does not believe leather can ever be out of fashion._

_- Does not use the riding crop, just likes it as a fashion accessory._

_- Does not believe he's overly vain…_

Jareth smiled scathingly and snapped the book close. "Of course not. I'm the height of fashion." With that, he began humming and he decided that it wouldn't hurt to just check in on her. He was just going to get bored knowing that some annoying delegates were sleeping, awaiting his summons. Might as well let them stew a while. He'd be back _sometime_ the next morning. With a devious smile, he launched into the air, soaring threw the open window.

.:OoO:.

Ah… you know, these chapters are so nice and relaxing to do. I don't have to worry about fitting in a whole bunch of complicated details or perfecting a whole bunch of character interaction. Nope, I just get to write fun history and strange tidbits that my mind is filled with. Really, this is better than a massage. Well… almost. Oh… I put in a special little reference, can anyone find it?

Shadow-D


End file.
